<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>persephone by theflybi</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095408">persephone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflybi/pseuds/theflybi'>theflybi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), DC Extended Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, slow burn maybe?, some demons and spooky stuff, uh I'm not sure what else tbh, uh self indulgent I guess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:53:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflybi/pseuds/theflybi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>in which eliza depart battles both demons and pessimism!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Constantine/OFC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At 7:03 p.m., John was already done with his eighth gin and tonic. Under these circumstances, one might say that this was understandable. It was March 10th, which meant that it was the third anniversary of Eliza's death.</p><p>He can still see her body clear as day.</p><p>    When he had walked into the room, her shoes had been the first thing he saw. They had been hanging a few feet above the floor. Part of him had thought that his mind was still fuzzy from the drink that Papa Midnite had given him. He realized that wasn't the case when his eyes found her face. Her face had been the worst part of it. There had been no color, no life in her eyes, and her tongue was dry from sticking out of her mouth.</p><p>It made him sick.</p><p>John orders another gin and tonic and hopes that this one might alleviate the pain, but there's a good chance it won't. It hurts too fucking bad and there's no possible way to stop it. Eliza had died and it was his fault. Everything was his fault.</p><p>He thinks about the story of Lazarus of Bethany. How Lazarus died in the streets and people just walked past his body like it was nothing. Was it the same way for Eliza? When people walked by the hotel room that she was hanging in, did they know? If they did, did they even care?</p><p>John constantly tortured himself with these questions.</p><p>He finishes his ninth drink and asks for another. By now his head is starting to feel a little fuzzy. He thinks that if Lazarus, a good man, and a saint, could be brought back to life, he would want the same thing for Eliza.</p><p>They say that history doesn't repeat, but often rhymes instead, and the story of Eliza Dupart sounds awfully like that of Lazarus. Jesus doesn't quite walk the Earth like he used to, but if he did, John knows he would bring Eliza back. After all, she had been John's very own saint.</p><p>By now he's drunk and completely hopeless, so he makes a little prayer. He prays that his very dear and departed Eliza will get a second chance at life, a chance to make the world a better place. He knows he's not in the favor of the Big Guy upstairs, but he can only hope that she might be, she had always been a big believer.</p><p>   John mutters an "Amen" and takes a swig of his tenth drink.</p><p>He should have taken more care to realize who he was praying to.</p><p>5 YEARS EARLIER</p><p>    Mardi Gras Tuesday had always held a special place in Eliza's heart. The concept of everyone trying to party their little hearts out, after almost a month of already doing so, was so interesting to her. Mardi Gras meant that the people in New Orleans partied long, not hard, up until this very Tuesday.</p><p>    Eliza would never consider herself much of a partier, but she could guess what it would feel like to be one. The energy from the city and its people made her feel completely buzzed. The hum of thousands of people having a good time meant that she herself didn't even need to attend to feel intoxicated (when she tried to explain this to JJ, he suggested it might be comparable to a running high, something she had never personally felt. They then spent the rest of the night dancing just outside of the crowds of people. It was really nice).</p><p>    However, this Mardi Gras didn't quite feel the same. This time Eliza felt off.</p><p>    For the past twenty-three years of her life, she had never once felt this way during Carnival. Her body felt sluggish and tired, and mentally she was anxious. It didn't make any real sense to her. Someone had once told her she was a conduit of others' energy, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why everyone would feel like this.</p><p>    It was almost like the city was collectively holding its breath.</p><p>    She had told Isaiah about it and he simply shrugged. Sometimes he would just make her more confused than she already was with the way he would answer her questions (which was not often).</p><p>    But that didn't really matter now as she stepped her way into the French Quarter. It looked the same, and by the same she meant gorgeous. The lights that glowed from the balconies would have normally given the place a warm, comforting feeling. The people seemed happy enough, men and women alike dressed in purple and yellow, drinks in their hands and beads around their necks.</p><p>    This only made her more confused.</p><p>(Honestly, at this moment in time there was probably never a moment in which she didn't feel confused.)</p><p>    Observing all of her surroundings seemed to be rather distracting, as she suddenly found herself in a bar. Eliza had never once in her life walked into a bar under her own volition, and at the way a sweaty stranger bumps into her, she remembers why.</p><p>    Yes, Eliza was an optimist. She was kind and amazing and loved people and blah blah blah. But- when multiple people are drunk and have no sense of personal space, she might be tempted to just start shoving a few of them.</p><p>    Once again she is a nice person, so she doesn't push or shove, and instead politely moves through the crowd, the sweaty, stinky, crowd, and finds a seat at the bar. The wood counter is stained by tens of different kinds of alcohol and she tries her best to not touch any of them.</p><p>    To her right, a burly man comes a bit too close for comfort and thrusts himself forward to get the attention of a bartender. God this place sucks, she thinks. Irritation crawls up the back of her neck and she can feel venomous words climb up her throat.</p><p>    Luckily she stops before she gets the chance to say them.</p><p>    Yes, she had plenty of reasons to be irritated. People were being so rude, and judging by accents, most of the people around her weren't even from New Orleans. But this was so unlike her to be this angry this quickly.</p><p>    The man to the right of her makes another poor attempt at getting another drink, and when I say poor, I mean poor. The man leans across the counter again, shouting slurred nonsense. His balance wasn't the best, and when paired with about three too many drinks, it was a recipe for disaster. He goes to straighten his posture and leans back too far, then he proceeds to fall onto his ass.</p><p>    Eliza gapes for a moment, a bit overwhelmed at the everything currently going on around her. Music, laughter, and the intense smell of alcohol would make anyone's head hurt. She stares at the man on the floor. She blinks once. Then once more. Finally, she hops off the stool she had been occupying and kneels next to the man on the floor. Her right hand gently touches his shoulder as she asks, "Are you okay?".</p><p>    The man blinks a few times before turning his head to look at Eliza. His eyes are glazed over and his cheeks are covered with a slight blush. He gives a quick nod before clearing his throat and delivering a quick "Yes ma'am. Thank you for asking,".</p><p>    Eliza can feel some of her earlier irritation being replaced by a warm feeling. If she focused enough she could tell that the warmth was coming from him. This man meant no harm. He was just a drunk and a little dumb, but for the most part, he had a good soul.</p><p>    The man makes an attempt to stand up and Eliza moves to help him to his feet. He's tall, easily a whole head taller than her, a gentle giant, she thinks.</p><p>    "Thank you miss," he speaks, a hiccup interrupting the rest of his sentence. Eliza meets his already extended hand and gives a quick handshake as he says "I think I should probably get going now,".</p><p>    "Yeah, you really should," mutters a voice behind the man.</p><p>    He doesn't seem to notice and makes his way towards the exit, leaving Eliza to stare at the person who has just spoken. His back was towards her and she could tell that he must've been hunched over a drink.</p><p>    Anger and irritation rolled off of him in waves and Eliza almost stumbled back in surprise. She walks over to him cautiously, noting that the shirt that he was wearing was wrinkled and covered in a little bit of dirt. His hair was a dirty blond and when she sat on the chair next to him she noticed a bit of stubble along his jawline. He was handsome.</p><p>    However, that wouldn't change the fact that what he had said was just plain-</p><p>    "Rude."</p><p>    The man glanced up from his drink to find Eliza's eyes already fixed on to his own. He blinked a few times, trying to wonder why in the hell this random woman was so angry with him.</p><p>    "Uh, what was rude lass?" he finally asked.</p><p>    Eliza heard his accent when he spoke this time. Definitely not from New Orleans. Probably British, (she couldn't be too sure, accents weren't exactly her strong suit).</p><p>    Eliza straightens up just a little bit, her posture wasn't exactly becoming of her and noticing that she had been encroaching in the man's personal space, she leaned back more into the barstool. She bit the inside of her lip and narrowed her eyes slightly, did he really not know what he did wrong?</p><p>    "The way you spoke to that man, that was rude," Eliza spoke with irritation in her voice.</p><p>    This man's anger didn't seem to be directed at anyone, but unfortunately for Eliza, his mood was affecting her. She suddenly became aware of how humid it was in the bar, her palms were becoming clammy and gross, and she could feel the way sweat droplets had started to form on the back of her neck.</p><p>    She wanted to leave, but she didn't.</p><p>    Her eyes didn't leave the man's as she started to rub her hands onto her thighs, a poor attempt to stop them from clamming up, and she raised her eyebrows in expectation of his next comment. The man mirrors her expression and starts to open and close his mouth like a fish, trying to figure out the right words to say. Finally, he settles on:</p><p>    "Do I know you?"</p><p>    Eliza pauses a second, remembering that she wasn't the most skilled in interactions with complete strangers. The only examples she'd ever seen of awkward situations like this came from T.V shows and the main character would usually say something sarcastic at this point. As the main character of this story, she felt the need to try and do the exact same thing.</p><p>    "No. We don't know each other. I think I'd remember if I met someone as angry as you," she spoke with as much malice as she could possibly muster, which wasn't a lot. In the end, it sounded much like a small child trying to be threatening. The man didn't focus on the delivery of the sentence but on the words themselves.</p><p>    He cocks his head to the side and unconsciously moves closer to her. That was a weird thing to say, right? He hadn't exactly shown any signs of anger. Had he been an asshole? Absolutely. Did he seem angry? He wouldn't say so.</p><p>    "What? I'm not angry, what gave you that idea?"</p><p>    Eliza scoffs and spits out a response before she can even think about it, "It's obvious, you're so mad that it rolls off of you in waves. It's suffocating really."</p><p>    She bites her tongue, closing her eyes as she mentally beats herself up for the quick retort.</p><p>List of things wrong with that response:</p><p>Always, and I mean always, think before you speak</p><p>It was rude. Don't assume that people you speak to are dumber than you, even if they appear that way</p><p>Don't ever mention things that other people think might be weird (i.e. things that other people cannot see or feel)</p><p>"I'm sorry," she apologizes sincerely, "that was rude of me." She gives him a sheepish smile. The blond man nods a little and straightens up in his chair, his way of showing that he accepted her apology.</p><p>"Okay lass," he starts and Eliza can hear a slight slur to his words now, "I guess I'm sorry too. For earlier. For being rude to that man." Eliza allows herself to have a small smile at the way the tipsy man attempts to explain himself. When he notices her more relaxed demeanor he relaxes as well. He hadn't been aware of his tensed shoulders and clenched jaw, not to mention the way his fingers gripped the glass in his hand.</p><p>"So, are we okay now? You're not gonna yell at me again?" he asks with a small smile of his own.</p><p>Eliza shakes her head, brown curls falling from her bun to frame her face, "Define yelling?" she teases.</p><p>    The blond let out a chuckle and Eliza lets her cheeks turn a bit red, telling herself that it was just because the bar was unusually warm. He extends his right hand, ready to introduce himself at last, "John Constantine."</p><p>    "Eliza Dupart, pleased to meet you," she grabs his hand softly, suddenly becoming hot at the contact. It felt like the heat traveled from where their hands met and quickly made its way throughout the rest of her body. After a few more seconds the heat turned into a burning sensation and she let out a hiss as she released John's hand.</p><p>    "Jesus Christ!" she muttered as she took to nursing her right hand. John watches with wide eyes, taking in the way Eliza breathes and the way her face scrunches up. The alcohol in his system made it difficult for him to realize that the girl in front of him was in pain.</p><p>    "Shit, are you okay?" he asks, reaching for her injured hand.</p><p>    Eliza pulls away, the urge to yell at him was strong, but she chose not to. After all, she couldn't even know if this pain was his fault.</p><p>    "I- I'm okay," she assures him. Physically, there was no injury. Her hand looked perfectly fine, but she couldn't shake the way that John's touch made her feel. She had been angry, so much so that it hurt.</p><p>    "I think I should leave, it was nice meeting you," she lied as she exited the bar far quicker than she came.</p><p>    John was left sitting on his own stool, staring at the space where Eliza had just been. As far as interactions with strangers went, that hadn't been his worst. However, if his mind wasn't so foggy he'd be able to figure out why her leaving made him feel so anxious. Just a few more minutes of staring at her empty seat and replaying the rather short conversation between them and he'd figure it out.</p><p>    John's jaw drops slightly. "Oh shit." He figured it out.</p><p> </p><p>A/N:   hello everyone as you can see i rewrote the beginning!  i wasn't too happy with the last part so here's this. if you saw the first one, no you didn't. anyways the next part should be here before friday! i've actually had time to write so here we are. also Eliza at the bar is the very definition of "I'm a nice person but I'm about to start throwing rocks". Please please comment what you thought!!!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>eliza at the bar: I'm a nice person but i'm about to start throwing rocks at people</p><p>anyways! pls tell me what you think pretty pretty pls if you've read this just know that I love and adore you</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Dupart residence was located in the Garden District of New Orleans, only about a thirty-minute trip from the French Quarter when one rode the public bus. Ever since she was a little kid, Eliza knew to keep spare change on her so that she could use this form of transportation to explore the city that she loved so dearly.</p><p>    When I said "residence", I probably should've said mansion instead. The property was huge, to say the least, and sat at the end of Saint Charles Ave. It was three stories tall, painted a comforting eggshell color. At night it reflected the shadows that usually made their way across the street, turning the side of the house into a projection screen.</p><p>    The shadow that Eliza cast against the house looked quite ominous, and it made her shiver at the memory of other shadows that she'd seen all her life. As she made her way up the steps to the front door, she sent a quick prayer to God, hoping that Blythe Dupart had already been asleep by now. She wouldn't be too pleased with Eliza entering the house at such ungodly hours.</p><p>    She opened the door slowly, knowing by now how to do it without making a sound. After closing the door behind her she slips off her shoes, slowly moving to peek into the living room on the right side of the door.</p><p>    As she hoped, Blythe Dupart laid asleep on the couch, her arm draped across her eyes and the smallest amount of drool leaving her mouth. A half-full glass of alcohol sat on the coffee table and Eliza moved quietly to take it to the kitchen. Blythe hated when any dishes were left out, even if she had been the one to do it.</p><p>    Eliza maneuvered through the quiet maze that she called home and dumped the remains of the drink into the sink. Her right hand twitched and her skin recalled the burning that it felt earlier. The lights from outside are the only thing that illuminates the kitchen, and the soft blue light reflects off the many rings on her fingers.</p><p>    It was a heavy contrast compared to the bar. Here her body felt colder, which was very welcomed.</p><p>    The fingers on her right hand still held the heat from earlier, and Eliza considered running them under cold water. She knew it was a longshot, having come to the conclusion that the reason for her earlier pain came from being overstimulated. Being around so many people with so many different emotions all at once would be overwhelming to anyone, and to add on that John Constantine's intense emotions, it was bound to hurt.</p><p>    Think of it as a night of drinking, your body enjoys it for a while and then, at some point, you have to stop. Some get nauseous, some pass out, some puke. Eliza's body felt that the best way to get her out of that situation was to burn. Tomorrow she would have the worst "hangover". It sucked.</p><p>    She turns on the sink, deciding that water would help rinse off whatever remnants of John remained. The cool water runs down her right hand and with her left, she pulls the scrunchie out of her hair.</p><p>    "Where've you been all night?" an accented voice behind her questions. Eliza doesn't react right away, of course, if anyone had to be up at this time at night it would be him.</p><p>    "You're not my father Sai', I'm not obligated to tell you," she teases. He knows she's kidding, but that doesn't stop the hint of sadness from creeping into his voice as he says her name, "Eliza."</p><p>    She frowns, guilt slowly starting to form in her stomach. She hated it when he sounded so dejected.</p><p>    "I was at the Quarter," she flexes her hand under the still running water before moving to turn it off. "The same place where I am every Mardi Gras," she turns around and faces Isaiah.</p><p>    Isaiah was a fairly tall man with amazing posture. His hair was perfectly combed and parted to the right and there wasn't a hint of stubble on his face. He also died in 1926 at the ripe age of thirty-two.</p><p>    Isaiah doesn't speak and elects to study Eliza's face instead. He did this often, his eyes often combing across her figure with just the slightest hint of sadness.</p><p>    "Did I do something wrong?" Eliza ventures after a beat.</p><p>    Isaiah shakes his head quickly, hairs that hadn't been gelled down properly flying into all kinds of directions. His gaze turns to look over Eliza's shoulder and into the room where Blythe Dupart was passed out on the couch.</p><p>    He gives a slight nod in that direction and tells Eliza that, "Blythe has been searching for you all night.  I'm not sure why she didn't just, as you say, 'call' you. You have a telephone in your pocket, correct?"</p><p>    Eliza nods, turning to watch as Blythe's sleeping figure snores quietly in the other room. "She was never one to do things the easy way," she comments quietly. Turning back to Isaiah she adds, "I'll talk to her in the morning. Hopefully, she'll understand and won't be too upset."</p><p>    Isaiah crinkles his nose, "Hopefully".</p><p>    Eliza lets out a quiet yawn and turns to where Isaiah stands. "G'night 'Sai'. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"</p><p>    Isaiah grabs Eliza's wrist, placing a soft kiss onto the back of her hand. "Of course Eliza, sleep well." A small smile crosses her lips, eyes beginning to droop with sleepiness. She makes her way through the kitchen, peeking into the living room once more to make sure the Blythe is comfortable before she walks towards the stairs in the next hallway. When her foot hits the first step, she hears a slight knock on the front door.</p><p>    She freezes, the step creaking slightly against her weight. She waits a moment, not hearing anything else, and takes another two steps up before she hears a series of knocks again, slightly louder this time. She turns quickly, jogging as quietly as humanly possible to the front door. She doesn't want the sleeping woman on the couch to wake up to someone at the door at one in the morning.</p><p>    Eliza's covered feet hit the wooden floor without much sound and she grips the doorknob, twisting it open as quickly and quietly as she can.</p><p>    John Constantine waits on the porch, his hand raised in a fist, as if he was prepared to knock again.</p><p>    He gives her a smile and says, "Hi."</p><p>    Eliza's eyebrows furrow together in confusion. Was this man stalking her? How did he know where she lived? Did he know what time it was? She had other questions, but all she managed to say was a quiet, "Hi?"</p><p>    John notices the confusion on her face, "I'm John. We spoke at a bar like an hour ago?"</p><p>    Eliza nods, blinking a couple of times to make sure that this interaction was actually happening. "Uh, yeah I remember you. What are you doing here?"</p><p>    John places both hands into his pockets, straightening up his posture when he noticed that he had been slouching.</p><p>"Straight to the point. First thing I want to-"</p><p>"How'd you know where I live?" Eliza interrupts, her mouth finally catching up to the questions inside her head. She had taken a step or two back unconsciously.</p><p>"Are you going to hurt me?" she asks.</p><p>    John notices as she tenses up. She looked prepared to run at the first sign of trouble, her grip on the front door making her knuckles turn white. He backs up quickly, moving his hands out of his pockets and into the air, showing that he meant her no harm.</p><p>    "Jesus no, I'm sorry if I gave that impression. I just have to talk to you about something lass," he spoke rapidly, wanting to prove his innocence as soon as possible.</p><p>    "You wanted to have a talk at one in the morning? What could be so-"</p><p>    "Eliza? Is that you? Who's at the door?" an older voice interrupts her. Heavy steps follow and soon a tired and cranky Blythe Dupart is at Eliza's side. She glares at the man standing on her porch. The wrinkles around her eyes become deeper as well as the ones that surround her mouth. She stood a few inches taller than her daughter next to her with blonde hair tied into a messy bun. She places an aged hand onto Eliza's shoulder and fixes the robe she wears with the other.</p><p>    "Who are you?", she questions the British man at her door.</p><p>    Before John can even open his mouth, Eliza answers the question for him. "He's a drunk mama, means no harm."</p><p>    Blythe crinkles her nose and deepens her scowl, something John had previously thought impossible.</p><p>    "This is private property. I want you gone, y'hear?" Blythe speaks gruffly. Eliza glances from John to her mother, her expression unreadable to the stranger at the door.</p><p>    Suddenly John felt a drop of water hit his forehead. He glances up at the sky, the lights of the city reflecting off the clouds in the sky to create at least some form of visibility late at night. More drops of rain start falling, and soon there was nothing to be heard but the patter of the rain.</p><p>    Eliza lets out a slight gasp, and when John looks at her, her mouth forms the shape of an "O". She turns towards the older woman and lets out a soft, "Mama," to get the blonde woman's attention. Blythe slowly lowers her glare down to Eliza and raises her eyebrows in a "What?" kind of gesture.</p><p>    "It's raining outside. He doesn't have anywhere to go. Can he stay here for the night? In one of the spare bedrooms?" Eliza pushes. She knew that it was a longshot, but she couldn't let John stand out in the rain alone, he could get sick. And for personal reasons, she was curious to find out what the man wanted to speak to her about.</p><p>    Blythe immediately shakes her head.</p><p>    "Are you stupid? We're not letting a drunk into this house! No no no no," she all but yells, pointing a finger rather aggressively in John's general direction. If Isaiah had been watching, he would've thought the whole interaction to be rather "ironic", Eliza thought. In hindsight, she was the one who truly felt that way.</p><p>    Eliza throws an apologetic smile at John who still stands in the doorway, the rain slowly seeping through a tan coat that he wore. She clears her throat and gently grabs Blythe's arms, ready to try and get something she wants for once.</p><p>    "Remember when that homeless man came to the Platt's house a few years ago?" Eliza asks. Blythe nods slowly, trying to figure what that has to do with anything. Eliza continues when she knows that Blythe is listening, "And remember when they told him that they'd call the cops if he ever came near them again? And it had been raining outside and the man was just looking for some shelter?"</p><p>    Blythe nods before whipping her head around to face John, "I should have already called the cops on this one. Look at him, standing there like a stray dog, begging for scraps. Well, you're not getting any from me you understand?"</p><p>    At this outburst John opens his mouth to retort, his body moving closer to the women in the doorway. Eliza was quicker though and sticks her hand out before he could do anything, her right hand gripping John's wrist. He stops and looks at the girl whose gaze was still locked onto her mother's face. The wince of pain as she touches him doesn't go unnoticed.</p><p>    "Mama," she says for what feels like  the millionth time. Blythe doesn't turn her gaze from John, but Eliza knows that she has the older woman's attention.</p><p>    "If we leave him out here, who knows what might happen? He's drunk, might walk into a gator, and die! You don't want that on your conscious mama."</p><p>    Blythe thinks for a moment. If there's one thing she hated more than homeless people, it was drunk homeless people, and right now John seemed exactly that type. However, she had also recently "seen the light" and was trying to be better, lest she burns for the rest of eternity.</p><p>    John stares at the two women in confusion. Was he going to be able to have a conversation with Eliza or not? Not to mention the fact that his coat was starting to get soaked by the rain, he didn't have time to sit here and wait for an old lady to decide on whether he was worthy or not to enter her house.</p><p>    "Fine," Blythe clips her words to the younger woman, "but he's your responsibility," she says. John wrinkles his nose at that, he wasn't a stray dog. "Tomorrow morning I don't want to see any sort of sign that he even entered this house, you understand?" she continues.</p><p>    Eliza ducks her head and nods, "Yes mama, of course."</p><p>    With that, Blythe looks back to John one last time, eyeing him up and down before grimacing and turning back into the house. Eliza and John watch her walk down the hallway before entering a room and slamming the door behind her.</p><p>    Eliza looks at John, rain running down his face, making him look like a sad puppy. It makes her mouth fall into a small frown and she motions with her head for him to come inside. He steps inside and immediately takes in his surroundings. A small smile plays at his lips and he looks down at Eliza, "So you're rich," the humor evident in the statement.</p><p>    She hums in response, trying to figure out what was so funny about the statement, and gestures to John's now soaked coat. He slowly peels it off his body and goes to fold it in his hands before Eliza takes it from him and walks quietly to what he guesses is the kitchen. He follows her, electing to keep his distance, after all, he didn't really know her that well. Instead of speaking he just observes the girl instead. He didn't exactly have a chance to when they had met in the bar.</p><p>    She was about a head shorter than him with curly hair that reached the middle of her back. She had amazing posture, which with a very nice house made him think that she definitely attended private school. He thought she was pretty, to say the least, but based on their first interaction she might also be a little uptight. But based on the last five minutes he guessed she couldn't be too bad.</p><p>    Eliza stops by the stove, turning it on with a flick of her hand before she disappears into a room to the right of the kitchen. John doesn't get the chance to follow her before she's right back in the kitchen, this time without his coat.</p><p>    He does nothing but watches as she takes a kettle and fills it up with water, placing it over the stove. Finally, she goes to a cabinet and grabs two separate mugs, placing them on the counter beside him. And then she just stands, waiting for the water to heat up.</p><p>    "So," John begins, very eager to finally start the conversation that he had to come to her house for. However, it would have to wait as Eliza raises a finger at him, "Wait for the tea, alright?". He nods, once again seeming amused at something she couldn't quite put her finger on.</p><p>    "Okay then, what'd you do with my jacket?" he decides to ask.</p><p>    "It's drying, I wouldn't want you to get sick," she answers. "Speaking of which, you should probably dry off a bit, huh?" She bites her lip before walking past him into the main hallway. He follows in suit and it seems that that's all he'd been doing tonight.</p><p>    Eliza opens one of the many doors in the house and comes out with a towel, and John finds that it's a very fluffy towel. He takes it from her and mumbles a "thank you" before beginning to dry his hair. Eliza doesn't move for a moment, her dark eyes darting over him as he moves to dry his hair. John notices and lets out a chuckle.</p><p>    "Take a picture, it'll last longer," he teases. She scrunches her nose at that.</p><p>    "Don't let it get to your head. I'm just being nice," Eliza tries to hide her smile.</p><p>    "Oh I get it, just some of that good 'ole southern hospitality?" he smiles, the towel moving to dry his neck and face now.</p><p>    "Exactly," she nods and brushes past him, walking back towards the kitchen.</p><p>    John doesn't follow this time. He stays in the bathroom, drying himself as much as possible, and trying to organize his thoughts as much as possible. He had so many questions and wasn't quite sure where to start the conversation. He wondered why she had been in the bar tonight, why anytime she touched him she seemed to feel uncomfortable. Why had he seen her before, and if she had seen him too. Was that woman at the door her real mother? Why did the house feel so crowded if it looked so empty?</p><p>    He decided that all these questions could be answered with one simple question: Who are you, Eliza?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello! once again please tell me what you think! also do you guys prefer shorter chapters or longer chapters? also if there is some confusion i promise that it will be explained later on so don't think about stuff so much. unless that's lazy who's to say really. also also is my writing too stiff? i'm kind of getting that vibe but idk what do y'all think</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After she had made the two cups of tea Eliza had led John upstairs. She took him into a large room that was heavily decorated. A couch sat in the middle, facing a pair of glass doors which led to a patio outside. She opened the doors and placed the mugs on a table on the patio. John had initially worried about the rain before he realized that the roof extended over them.</p><p>    It was warmer outside than he expected, and the humidity wasn't as bad as it had been earlier that day. He thought it was quite nice actually.</p><p>    The brown-skinned women gestures to one of the chairs, it was black and had intricate designs all over. She sat opposite of him and John noticed how her lips were turned up into a slight smile. The woman in front of him seemed much more lively than the version that appeared to him the second his head hit a pillow.</p><p>    It had started about a week ago. A tired John would come back from a day of dishonesty and demon-hunting, the stench of cigarettes permanently stuck to his clothes, and lie down on what he had called home for the night. Chas had grown tired of sleeping in the car and had opted that they stay in the shittiest motels possible, but a bed was a bed.</p><p>    The minute John would shut his eyes, he'd see Her.  Most nights, all he'd watch Her sit on the edge of a bed. Her head would be cocked to the side and her mouth slightly agape as he'd turn and see that she had been staring mindlessly at a television screen. It had been slightly unnerving but honestly what in John Constantine's life wasn't.</p><p>    Other nights the dreams were a lot more normal. A glisp or two there of Her face, like watching an older film. Most times Her lips were drawn into smiles that didn't quite reach Her eyes. And other nights he'd just hear her voice. The humming and quiet singing had led him to believe that maybe she had been comforting someone who needed it. Some part of his subconscious hoped it was him.</p><p>    This wasn't a dream though, this was real, and he was determined to find the reason why she had entered his life. John didn't believe in coincidences, but he also didn't believe in fate. It was a strange line to walk between the two but he managed it perfectly. Did people enter and leave your life for a reason? Of course they did.</p><p>    Was that reason always a good one? No, more often than not. If one battled demons on a weekly basis, then one has to acknowledge the presence of a God that exists. John did not believe that God was loving and forgiving as Eliza might (the cross that lays between her collar bones gave him that clue). God liked to toy with people's lives, and John was very determined to see what role Eliza would play in his. And based on the way her fingers fidgeted around the mug in her hand, she was eager to know too.</p><p>    "So," she bites her lip, not exactly knowing how to talk to this stranger in her home. John had never cared very much about what people thought about him when he would enter their houses to deal with their paranormal problems. He wouldn't dance around difficult subjects, wanting to solve the problem right then and there. He wasn't in a rush this time.</p><p>    "Was that story about the alligator real? Did that actually happen?" he broke the silence. Eliza would need some time, he thought, so this time he'd try and ease into the conversation.</p><p>    Eliza grimaced, her mouth turning down in a frown.</p><p>    "Yes, that happened sadly. Lord knows the man didn't deserve it," she said quietly, crossing her legs on the chair. "But stranger things have happened."</p><p>    "I'm sure they have," John says as he grabs his mug filled with tea. He makes eye contact with Eliza as he takes a sip. If he wanted Eliza to not find him strange, he wasn't doing the best job of it.</p><p>    She had made him green tea, it wasn't bad. He'd heard once that it carried some health benefits. He wasn't the healthiest and one cup of tea probably wouldn't help him at all. And then all at once it seemed his body finally realized the time of the night, limbs growing heavier by the second.</p><p>    "What do you dream about Eliza?" he asked. He no longer cared about time, his intoxicated body longed for sleep, and if this house was any indication, he was sure that he was going to be sleeping in the most comfortable bed of his life.</p><p>    Eliza pursed her lips at his question. She had always been so sure not to tell people about her life. Blythe had been sure of that. Eliza had to be normal. That's all that was asked of her. The only people who knew that she might not be exactly that was JJ and Blythe.</p><p>    It had been a hard battle initially. Not everyone saw what she saw, dreamt what she dreamt. She had been eight years old when she had first found out that others didn't see the woman hanging from the tree outside of her school.</p><p>    She had been sixteen when she had been told that the dreams of a girl who looked like her being smothered by a pillow wasn't normal. A therapist had brushed those dreams and a series of night terrors off as anxiety while Blythe shoved the whole thing under the carpet.</p><p>    From then on life had been a series of training her herself to be as inconspicuous as possible. When she smiled, she made sure not to smile too big or too small. She mastered small talk, didn't learn any interesting facts or skills. Just be normal was her mantra, and it was playing in her mind right now.</p><p>    "I dream about normal things I guess. Falling out of a place, showing up to school or work naked. Those kinds of things," Eliza answered.</p><p>    She was not a very good liar.</p><p>    "No one actually dreams about going to school naked. People say they do, but they don't," John replied. Unlike her he was a good liar, which meant he could tell a bullshitter from miles away.</p><p>    "Well I do, and I'm telling you that I do," Eliza said, her best attempt at remaining polite through her ever rising temper. She never lost it, was quite good at containing any anger or irritation that would try to bubble to the surface, but it seemed that for the second time tonight that John would be the exception to the rule.</p><p>    "Okay, let's say that's true," she wasn't the only one starting to let the irritation get the best of them. "People say that you never dream of a face you haven't seen before. Everyone you see in a dream, is someone you've met, do you understand?"</p><p>    Eliza nods, not quite sure where he was going with this.</p><p>    "So tell me why I've seen your face and heard your voice in my dreams for the past week?" he asks, frustration radiating off him in waves.</p><p>    The air is hotter now, more humid than it was earlier if that was even possible, and the skin on Eliza's neck pricks. She brings her hand up to her neck, scratching at the discomfort. She wasn't used to feeling this warm, especially in the house.</p><p>    "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you're talking about. Is this what you wanted to talk about?" she was a bit disappointed. She didn't want to be some stranger's therapist.</p><p>    "In a way, yes. I would chock it off as a coincidence but the minute I stepped foot in this house I knew I couldn't. Who's that woman behind you?" He nods in her direction.</p><p>    Any other person would have been afraid. They'd probably be whipping around to see the woman in question. Maybe they'd gasp, scared at the fact that there was a random lady standing there. But Eliza didn't.</p><p>    "You see them too?" her voice just above a whisper. John tried not to react at the crack in her voice. The eye contact was too much as is.</p><p>    "No, I don't. I just wanted to see if you could. Got my answer," he shrugs and takes another sip of his tea. He wanted to avoid the scared look on Eliza's face. She was a typical deer caught in the headlights.</p><p>    "I'm not crazy. I'm not, I promise," she starts, as if she's been through this conversation a few times. "They've been there as long as I can remember. I can feel them, I don't just see them. I swear on all that is Holy that I'm not making this up. If my parents hired you I-"</p><p>    "Hey, hey lass. It's okay, I believe you," John threw his hands into the air, Eliza's volume had started to increase and he didn't want Blythe to wake up and start yelling at him again.</p><p>    She's still tense, body locked as if she'd been trying to decide to run or continue on with the conversation. John reaches into his pocket, pulling out a business card and handing it over to the woman across from him.</p><p>    She takes it, still hesitant. It wasn't the most professional business card she'd ever seen, but she guessed that it must've been okay. The card read:</p><p>JOHN CONSTANTINE</p><p>Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts</p><p>(404) 248-7182</p><p>    "An exorcist?" her voice was barely above a whisper. John noted the way that her face formed into a slight pout. She didn't really buy it.</p><p>    "And a demonologist. And a bit of a magician if you'll believe it," she tried not to wrinkle her nose at that. It wasn't exactly crazy persay, but it wasn't possible. So is seeing things that aren't there. She huffed.</p><p>    "Ok. So what's the question here Mr. Constantine? I see things that others don't. You say you see me in your dreams, okay. I don't know what you want me to do about any of that."</p><p>    "I'm not asking you to do anything about my dreaming. Now that I know that you had nothing to do with it, it's behind us. In front of us however, is a decision," he paused for dramatic effect.</p><p>    "This house that you live in, I'm assuming you've lived here your whole life? Yeah, great. This house you live in is filled with so much negative energy, a lifetime of it would make any grown man want to off himself, much less an empath. Based on the 'evidence'," John says, making air-quotes. "I'm going to assume you're an empath. Maybe a medium but we can talk about that another day."</p><p>    He was on the verge of rambling, and for half a second Eliza wondered if this man was crazier than she was.</p><p>    "What I'm saying is that I'm offering you a way out of this place. I travel a lot, me and my mate Chas. If you want, you can come with us and I can teach you how to handle others emotions, that way when something like this happens," he reaches out and grabs her wrist, Eliza bites back a hiss of pain, "it won't hurt."</p><p>    She shakes her arm away from him. Her previous pout doesn't leave her face and she rubs at the spot on her arm where John had held her. Her tea on the table had gone cold. The rain hadn't let up. John looked a little bored.</p><p>    Suddenly she felt very tired, wanting desperately for this day to be over. This was the most excitement she had in years and frankly she wasn't enjoying it.</p><p>    "What do you get out of it?" she questioned.</p><p>    "Hmm?"</p><p>    "With all due respect, I don't think you're the type to do something like that out of the kindness of your heart. What do you get out of it?"</p><p>    He huffed.</p><p>    "Same thing you got out of providing me shelter tonight. Answers."</p><p>    Eliza's eye twitched.</p><p>    "You might've truly cared about my wellbeing, but you also let me up here out of curiosity. I'm not as dumb as I look lass."</p><p>    Eliza bit her lip, half an attempt at not laughing and the other half to look like she was considering his offer.</p><p>    "A quid pro quo."</p><p>    "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours," John began to look less interested in the conversation by the second.</p><p>    Eliza spared another glance at the business card in her hand. This wouldn't be happening anytime soon. There was nothing to decide.</p><p>    She stood, slipping the card into her back pocket.</p><p>    "I should probably show you to your room. It's getting late." John nodded in agreement, readying to follow her.</p><p>    "Don't worry about the cups, I got those," she says when John reaches to grab both of them. She doesn't pause to make sure that he's behind her as she walks back into the house.</p><p>     The room she leads him into is still on the second floor, same as the balcony that they had just occupied. It wasn't very large, but it was certainly enough. In the middle sat a queen sized bed, and on top Eliza began to set extra blankets from the closet.</p><p>    "The bathroom's the first room on the left, all the others are just extra," Eliza gestures back into the hallway. "My room is downstairs, second door past the staircase if you need anything."</p><p>    "So many rooms, might get lost," he tried to joke.</p><p>    "I know. I guess in the 60s they once used it as a B&amp;B."</p><p>    "Bed and Breakfast, very nice."</p><p>    "I apologize in advance, I might have to wake you pretty early. Depends on how late my mother sleeps I guess," Eliza makes her way out of his room, hand on the door handle.</p><p>    "No worries," John mumbles. The late hour was getting to them both.</p><p>    "Goodnight, Mr. Constantine."</p><p>    "Goodnight, Eliza."</p><p>    She shut the door, making her way back to the patio. Her tired mind was spinning. Eliza grabbed both mugs, John's was empty. A sliver of guilt made its way through her body at the thought that she had just wasted a good cup of tea. So, she did the next best thing, making sure that there was no one outside below, she dumped the tea out.</p><p>    The rain instantly washed it away and she was left with other thoughts.</p><p>    No one ever really knew much about Eliza. She could count on one hand the number of people who knew that she saw things that others didn't, and most of them were already dead. Yet in the span of one night a random British dude was able to guess the things that she had tried so hard to hide from everyone.</p><p>Was it a coincidence? No, she didn't believe in coincidences. God has a plan for everyone and anyone. But this wasn't hers? Was it?</p><p>    No, no, no.</p><p>    Her path was simple. She was to care for her aging mother, simply returning the favor. Blythe didn't have to care for Eliza when she had been dropped onto her porch, but she did. It was only fair that Eliza reciprocated the love and care that she had been shown.</p><p>    She placed the mugs in the sink, she could always wash them tomorrow.</p><p>    Her room wasn't very comforting, not exactly something that you'd expect someone in their early twenties to be living in, but Blythe had her reasons for keeping it that way. Even if she herself wasn't aware of them.</p><p>    Above Eliza's bed hung a cross, Jesus himself being crucified from it. The other three walls hung other religious imagery, all of them bearing a cross in some way, shape or form. Candles decorated her bed stand. All in all the room looked to belong to a woman in her late eighties.</p><p>     Eliza placed John's business card on her nightstand as she got ready for bed. It sat there seeming burning a whole into the back of her head, right under her only other sole possession in the room. It was a framed picture of her and JJ, the only living friend that she had in existence. He had found his way out of New Orleans, started a new life somewhere. Not by choice.</p><p>Hmm. You have a choice. She had a choice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: hey! idk what to think about this but things get more interesting after this I promise. i felt like the whole conversation kept going in a circle but idek anymore. I feel like I have a joke here but if you guys don't like those that's cool. anyways, Eliza when John is explaining what an empath is: I haven't a clue what's going on here, but I'll act like I do.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>